


Day 6: Smudges

by ofplanet_earth



Series: 30 days of Barduil [6]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bard is out of practice, Biting, HAH IT'S A THING, Hair-pulling, Life Drawing Class AU, M/M, Magical charcoal dominant Thranduil sexytimes, Muses, Scratching, Sexy Times, Shameless Smut, Smut, The Author Regrets Nothing, Thranduil really doesn't care, Top Thranduil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-06
Updated: 2015-11-06
Packaged: 2018-04-30 08:05:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5156387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofplanet_earth/pseuds/ofplanet_earth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bard hadn’t been on a date in ages. Ten years of marriage, all of them gone straight to shit and within three months he’d found himself on a date. With a figure model, of all things.</p><p>life drawing class AU (part 2)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Day 6: Smudges

**Author's Note:**

> this story is a direct continuation of [Lines.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5151131)  
> Anonymous requested a life drawing class AU and... well... one thing led to another.  
> may I just say that I've never written anything so graphic in my life.
> 
> A huge thank you to [LoveActuallyFan](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LoveActuallyFan/pseuds/LoveActuallyFan) for the amazing art you'll find at the bottom of this piece (and every piece of art linked to all my stories. she spoils me ♡).  
> you can see more of her art on [her art blog](http://www.plotbunniesincolour.tumblr.com) where she's currently taking requests ^_^

Bard hadn’t been on a date in ages. Ten years of marriage, all of them gone straight to shit and within three months he’d found himself on a date. With a figure model, of all things. For all Thranduil’s easy confidence and flirting— it had been flirting, Bard had realized with no small amount of awe— he had blushed furiously when he thought he’d been rejected. 

But Bard hadn’t rejected him— he’d only wanted to be sure that this was a _date_ Thranduil had asked him on and not some sort of… platonic dinner. Oh, Bard loved the shade of crimson that rose on his cheeks when he’d stuttered and clarified: this was a date. Bard had tried to bring out that blush again over dinner, and again over drinks, but Thranduil had only been cheeky and smirking and quite collected all the way through. 

And then they were out in the car park behind Percy’s, their drinks had been drunk, their conversation had reached a lull and Bard would have given anything if it meant he didn’t have to go back to his tiny, empty apartment alone. 

“I had fun,” Thranduil tucked his hands in the pockets of his jeans, the same jeans he’d been in when he’d begun to pose and Bard could not stop picturing the way they looked with the button undone, the subtle ridges of his abs disappearing into the shadow beneath them

“Me too, yeah,” Bard stuttered. “Do you… that is… I… Ah, sod it. Would you like to come back to mine? It’s small— really small and rather sad to look at— and mostly still packed up in boxes, but I’ve got a bottle of scotch and a record player if you don’t mind sitting on the—“ Bard was grateful for the interruption, partly because he was making an arse of himself and partly because it came in the form of impossibly soft lips and the quiet rush of warm breath.

“Shall I take that as a yes, then?” Bard’s eyes were closed and his mouth still hung agape and Thranduil was close enough still that Bard’s lips brushed against his smooth jaw when he spoke.

“I would be disappointed if you didn’t.” A smile lifted the corners of Thranduil’s lips and rounded the apples of his cheeks and Bard’s heart dropped slightly when he turned away to walk towards the car. Even though he’d agreed to come home with him, even though it meant they were leaving together, losing sight of that smile felt like stepping from a warm house and out into the deep chill of winter. 

The drive was short and Thranduil turned the radio on low and the resulting silence was easy. Bard lived on the fourth floor of an old brick tenement. It wasn’t much, but it was a place to call his own. He pulled two glasses from the cupboard and the liquor from the top of the fridge. 

“Who sleeps in here?” Bard found Thranduil standing in the doorway to his kids’ room, really just an office space where he’d crammed a pair of bunk beds and Tilda’s old toddler bed. She’d outgrown it years ago, but she still fit alright, and she didn’t complain.

Bard coughed and handed Thranduil his drink. “My kids, when they visit.”

“Are they with their mother?” 

“Yeah,” Bard nodded. “It’s a… new thing.”

“I’m sorry.” 

“Me too,” Bard made to turn back toward the kitchen but Thranduil kept him there with a hand on his wrist and a sudden, near bruising kiss. Something in Bard snapped then, something deep and brittle and long- neglected. He nearly spilled his drink in his rush to grip Thranduil’s hips. Nearly spilled Thranduil’s drink too when he pushed his shoulders against the wall, but Bard couldn’t be arsed to care. 

Thranduil’s lips were warm and slightly sticky from the scotch and Bard tangled his fingers in his hair, just as smooth and whisper soft as he’d imagined it to be. His skin was flushed again and his hips were sharp when they reached out from the wall to find his. The sound that came from Bard’s throat was feral and debauched, but he didn’t try to reign it in. 

Thranduil’s smirk overwhelmed him when he opened his eyes. He’d dropped his head against the wall, even while his hips had arched forward and he leaned there, his eyes hungry as he sipped his drink. Bard waited and watched, though he wanted nothing more than to knock the drink from his delicate fingers and paint the curve of that mouth red with the force of his lips. 

Bard downed his drink and Thranduil took the glass from him before crossing the kitchen again. Bard would have protested were it not for the view it gave him of his arse in those jeans. He held his ground, though he wanted little more than to follow Thranduil and pin him against the counter. He returned soon enough though, and this time with both hands free. 

He took bites out of Bard’s skin with his fingernails and dragged them across the small of his back. He had Bard pinned to the wall, the firm planes of his chest and the strong lines of his thighs holding him helpless there as his mouth drew a line of bruises from the hinge of his jaw and down beneath his shirt. 

Thranduil’s hands were quick at Bard’s fly and eager as they found him already hard and anxious. Bard gripped at the long strands of Thranduil’s hair again, tugging slightly and delighting in the moan that vibrated through the points of Thranduil’s teeth against his neck. Bard turned over and replayed the sound, held on to it greedily, fully intending on exploring it further. 

Thranduil’s hands dug beneath his pants and gripped the cheeks of his arse, the force of it driving Bard’s hips forward and catching the breath in his chest. His shirt disappeared somewhere between one breathy groan and the next. 

“Fucking hell,” Thranduil’s voice was low and deep and it sent a surge of heat straight down Bard’s spine. “Why don’t _you_ model? I can’t draw for shit, but I’d try if it meant I’d have this view for a few hours at a time.” 

“Because I have no self- control,” Bard laughed and ground his hips against Thranduil’s, only to find himself ripped away from the wall by his belt loops. 

“Bedroom,” Thranduil growled. “Now.” 

Bard was gasping and his cock was straining past the zip of his jeans and _that voice_. Fuck. It only made him harder. “Yes sir,” he teased as he led the way to the end of the hall. At least, it was meant as a tease. But he turned around once he’d opened the bedroom door, only to find himself pinned to the wall by a dark, hungry stare and a ravenous mouth. 

Thranduil kissed him— a heated, harsh kiss punctuated by teeth and tongue and the sharp taste of whiskey. Bard made to grab for the hem of Thranduil’s shirt, eager to pull it over his head and finally be able to _touch_ what he’d been craving all day. 

But Thranduil had other plans. No sooner had Bard’s fingers found the skin of his abs than his hands were wrenched away, held tight in an iron grip and pressed to the plaster above his head. Thranduil broke from Bard’s lips, left him gasping and arching off the wall as Thranduil’s fingernails dug into the skin of his wrist and his teeth caught on Bard’s throat. 

“Fuck,” Bard groaned, tried to free his hands, but Thranduil held them firmly above his head. “I wanna touch you,” 

“It’s not enough that you got to stare at me for three hours?” Thranduil hummed. 

“No,” the word was desperate in his throat and Thranduil laughed against his collarbone. 

“I’m afraid you’ll just have to wait your turn, Mister Bowman.” 

“You’re cruel,” Bard whined, but he was loving every second. He didn’t hesitate to bring his hands back to Thranduil’s long hair when his arms were finally allowed to fall. He tugged at Thranduil’s scalp until he could crash their mouths together again. He dragged his teeth across Thranduil’s bottom lip when curious fingers pressed against his puckered hole. 

“I have to tell you,” Bard gasped against Thranduil’s lips. “I’m— ohhh, out of practice.”

“Are we talking about your sketching again?” Thranduil hummed.

“No, I mean I— ohhhhhhhh, fuck. It’s been a long time since I last—“ Thranduil’s fingers did not stop their assault and Bard’s voice had disappeared.

“Are you worried you won’t be able to take me, Bowman?” Bard wanted to protest, wanted to defend himself. He _was_ worried, but he wanted this, wanted it more than he could find the words for. “I’ll be gentle,” Thranduil’s voice was soft and tempting against his ear. Bard gave in, let himself hold onto Thranduil’s shoulders as he continued to work him dry inside his pants. He nodded.

Bard was left cold again as Thranduil pulled away from him. “On the bed,” there was that growl in his voice again and Bard couldn’t help but to obey. His legs were shaky but he made it to the bed and sat. Thranduil pulled his jeans and his pants down, shucked them from his legs and threw them across the floor. 

“Hands and knees,” 

Fuck. Thranduil’s eyes were burning and Bard’s voice was lost somewhere in his chest and he would do _anything_ Thranduil asked him to at that moment. But Bard hadn’t been lying when he said he was out of practice; the feeling of hands on the backs of Bard’s thighs was all but foreign to him. He yelped when Thranduil’s teeth sank teasingly into his rear and he nearly fell apart at what came next. 

Thranduil's tongue was hot and wet against his exposed hole and Bard held onto the sheets below him, still tangled from when he’d left late that morning. A string of mumbled curses fell from his lips as Thranduil did things with his tongue Bard couldn’t _begin_ to understand. 

He was panting when Thranduil bit his arse again, so far gone he could barely form a coherent word when Thranduil asked where he could find lube and a condom. Bard waved to the dresser and whimpered when he lost the heat of Thranduil’s body. But he came back to him after a moment and Bard could feel bare skin against his thighs.

He dared a look over his shoulder, saw the pale skin that stretched over Thranduil’s ribs and almost regretted it. He whined again, his brain fuzzy and wanting only to _touch_. But Thranduil kept him on his knees with a hand against his spine and slid a finger inside him easily. Over ten years since he’d taken a man to bed and Thranduil worked him open like it had been no time at all. 

Bard tried to relax around Thranduil’s finger. He tried, but the small stretch wasn’t enough and it left him tense with desperation. “More,” he moaned and spread his legs wider. He half expected Thranduil to tease him, to hold back and watch him squirm, but instead he added another finger. Bard gasped and sank lower on his knees. He’d nearly forgotten how much he loved this— how _good_ it could be with the right partner. 

Thranduil seemed to lose his patience, after a minute or two. He dropped his forehead to rest against Bard’s back and he added a third finger without a single word or plea. 

Then his fingers were gone and Bard’s fevered mind nearly fell into a panic. But Thranduil was still there and his hand found Bard’s hip when he began to push inside, the head of his cock large and heavy against him even after three fingers and an expert tongue. 

But Bard was sweating and nearly undone already and his body took it all, took him deep and still craved more. He rutted back against Thranduil’s hips, pressed his rear back with as much force as his trembling limbs could muster. Thranduil moaned above him as Bard swallowed his cock, swallowed the sounds that spilled from those lips until Thranduil stilled him with two firm hands. 

Good god, he hadn’t realized how much he’d missed this. The first thrust of Thranduil’s hips drove him deeper than Bard thought he could take him. The second sent Bard rocking forward on his hands. With the third, he sank to his elbows and let Thranduil take advantage of the wider angle. 

And oh, did he. His hands were harsh and his nails dug into the flesh of Bard’s hips as he pulled him back, impaling him on the heat of his cock. Bard’s voice was hoarse and weak and he didn’t know how much more of this he could take. Thranduil bent to scrape his teeth against the backs of Bard’s shoulders as he dragged his cock from Bard’s body, only to grind back in with a snarl. 

Bard reached up and over his shoulder to twist his fist in Thranduil’s hair, held him close as he licked and bit at Bard’s back and ground his hips against Bard’s arse. His breath was hot and growling against Bard’s skin. Thranduil sank his teeth into the meat of Bard’s shoulder and moaned around the mouthful when Bard clenched around him. 

Bard was close— “So close,” he whined, and Thranduil reached around to grip his cock, heavy and bouncing with each thrust of their hips. He came with a cry, only barely able to hold himself up long enough to allow Thranduil to ride out his own orgasm.

⦖⦕

When Bard woke, the only light came from the lamp beside the bed and the clock showed it was almost midnight. Thranduil was asleep beside him, his arms thrown up over his face and his leg curled to rest across Bard’s hip. His hands itched to trace the lines of his ribs, to feel the twitch of his abs as he ghosted his fingers along them. But he looked so peaceful, so perfect.

Bard was careful not to wake Thranduil as he eased his leg down onto the mattress and climbed out of bed. He padded through the apartment, to where he’d dropped his sketchbook on the small kitchen table. He tiptoed back into the bedroom, wary of the creaking board midway through the hall, and settled in at the foot of the bed. He couldn’t resist, really. He fell into an easy rhythm with Thranduil’s gentle breaths, stealing glances when he inhaled and scratching at the paper when he breathed out. 

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so inspired. And to think— what had begun as an impulse decision had turned into the best fuck of his life.

Thranduil woke some time later, groaning when he brought his arms down from his face. “What are you doing?” 

“Nothing,” Bard mumbled around his bottom lip, easing the shadow along the line of his ribs. 

“You know I get paid to pose, don’t you?” 

“Course I do,” Bard smiled. “I fully intend to compensate you for your time.” 

“Is that so?” Thranduil stretched contentedly, the full expanse of his chest pulling Bard’s attention away from his sketch pad. “How do you plan to _compensate_ me, Bowman?” He purred. 

“I suppose that depends on whether you think I’ve waited my turn,” Bard set his sketch pad and charcoal aside in favour of shuffling forward and settling with his knees on either side of Thranduil’s body. Thranduil reached up to kiss him, a happy sigh humming in his throat as Bard finally put his hands on the hard planes of his torso. 

He could have stayed there for hours, mapping the terrain of Thranduil’s smooth skin. Thranduil laughed, then, and Bard was confused until he opened his eyes.

All of Thranduil’s milky skin was smeared with charcoal from Bard’s hands. His stomach, his chest, his thighs, his half- hard cock. Thranduil reached up to brush Bard’s cheek with his thumb, only for it to come away smeared with black. 

Thranduil carried on laughing until Bard kissed him soundly, tracing his stained fingers up the column of Thranduil’s throat and smudging them over his jaw.

**Author's Note:**

> [](http://s484.photobucket.com/user/ofplanet_earth/media/Thranduil%20with%20Drapery_zpsuctvjst6.jpg.html)   
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> it's not too late to request a fic! [submit a prompt](http://www.ofplanet-earth.tumblr.com/ask) and I'll add it to the list!  
> I like to tag [inspiration](http://www.ofplanet-earth.tumblr.com/tagged/30-days-of-barduil) for the stories I write. 
> 
> you can keep track of my word count on [my WriMo novel page](http://nanowrimo.org/participants/ofplanet-earth/novels/30-days-of-barduil) or [my tumblr](http://www.ofplanet-earth.tumblr.com/tagged/nanowrimo).


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